knotted...and yet, here you stand,
like some symbolic patriarch that
is supposed to save the day.
you'll try to rescue someone
who's already been saved
by no one special--
who needs anything but a hand
you're falling ever short.
bottling it up:
savoring the taste
of rotting emotion,
until you spit it
at an innocent bystander.
they think to themselves:
i'll try to piece this together...
it's probably me.
detective of the day
they continue on,
their previous tempo
lost, they go,
and then you eat yourself up
gnawing at your nails and
nibbling your lip;
as you let the sky burn away, until
storm clouds brew like asphalt gray devils,
hiding your mess in shadow; a blessing in disguise.
the rain washes disaster away,
while you weep up a river.
once sunshine ascends once again,
restraintssome people are so desperate
that when their eyes water,
they tilt their head back--
far, far back,
(almost back in time)
so their saline tears don't escape the jar--
the jar out which these things pour, through the lids--
and instead sink down
through the ducts
pass the nasal cavity
(oh no, she cannot sniffle)
and drip and smear down the throat
(she savors her strength)
swallowing them hard.
but inside, one
(small girl) whimpers
but this outside shell, oh no,
she will never whine or grovel,
she won't even paste on a fake smile
(all of those teeth-showing fashion shows
she'll just stay nice and quiet
with a frown.
thieves of identitythe sheep cry out.
sharply, harshly. the sheep cry out,
wetly, tightly. the sheep cry out,
the weak scream. the sheep cry out,
their skin is stripped. the sheep cry out,
their blood is thick. the sheep cry out,
they'll never sleep. the sheep cry out,
their eyes in heaps. the sheep cry out,
they're so sweet. the sheep cry out,
what a treat, on silent streets;
the sheep cry out.
nary a bleat, between their succulent meat;
the sheep cry out.
the wolf without thoughts, as skulls begin to rot;
the sheep are silent.
waking whirlpoolsa hole;
torn, well worn, sleeping,
breathing in the leviathan that is
the ocean, a majestic beast, with powerful claws
of pure white, teeth that range from aquamarine to navy.
rocks are your domain, crowded with urchins, licked in salt,
hungry eyed for humans, eager to envelop them
in your deadly embrace of water
drown them in depths;
there is no middle manangelic,
wrapped slowly in,
weaved and threaded, torn, trapped;
the spiderweb of sin; invisible and thin,
helpless, you watch the eight-eyed devil approach grinning widely.
lost, silver rope slides you center-wise as arachnid crawls,
the weight of your transgression into temptation
drops you swiftly, darkly down--
spine strokes fire;
Human Financial Literacy (Economically Efficient!)time--
a currency i lend out
the service of it, advantageous,
the bigger an ass you are
the more time you get.
you're never in debt;
services and benefits, however, those are
non-refundable, and you have
to pay them off at some point.
oh yes, there's quite a high deductible for the reaping of those benefits--
my services are rather time-consuming
and also emotionally exhausting,
so beware, i charge high rates
for what i do when you take my time.
a loan for my shoulders-- one
you'll feel obligated to repay: an incentive
all by itself,
especially if it's a long-term investment.
funny though, when that loan goes unpaid,
people either are apathetic, or frustrated:
the frustrated take more time, and more benefits
thus more debt in the services department--
and when they can't pay off their deductible for the services,
they pull out a loan, and get frustrated
you could say i'm what America wants:
a bank that earns no profit.
caw, cawhis beak was open in a snarl,
locked in endless inhale.
mouth spread eternally:
a breath never broke his lips
nary a feather
in sunny weather,
nor a talon without a
he knows everything.
he bristled and bucked,
but his eyes were sewn shut
and in his pacing and racing
every chirp of you he can hear.
the blackened devil,
the cursed canary
with a cowl
astrode wing in wing with shadow,
laughed quietly as his eyes went aprowl.
in the quiet of the night
when you hear the crowbird's call
the tittering caws become a recognizable drawl;
--you awaken with sudden violence,
to listen in the darkness; silence,
only to find the crowbird
was never there at all.
a half hearted news reporti watch the world with
and i'm only sixteen.
an eye for an eye
makes the whole world blind,
but sometimes it's the only way for them to see.
down my fingers, across my mouth
like the soft lips of a secret lover.
but when i was told
my birthstone was diamond
i didn't know they came from africa.
call me naive, call me corrupted,
i am carrying
the curse of the damned.
dirty warfare thickens the earth,
and dissensitization spreads;
a resource as vague and necessary as water.
skinny opinions, rare and ugly
but of course the loudest ones
are always heard.
stroke of revenge
in the heat of a match--
set it to the gasoline, and the whole world floods.
bodies, bodies, bodies, bodies...
dipped in oil and
sold for blood.
steadfasti'm wrapped up in my thoughts;
the thick blankets of my mind.
i shout into the cold abyss of fear
but my voice was lost on the wind.
i howl and laugh and yearn but
it is muffled by half-hearted youth.
i'm crawling out of my past
as i fight away the future.
i'm breathing the same air
that poets did before they died.
i feverishly writhe for meaning
in a world where nothing contains it.
i slip on the fingerprinted glasses
of other artists before me.
i'm suckling the archaic images
with steady hands and twitching lips.
i'm fracturing delicate mirror society
with chisels and pens of fire.
i lose myself in the abysmal heat
fanned by fear of failure.
i cut through the noise
without faith, but with determination.
i'm silencing the lions
not the lambs.
i'm not counting my steps,
i'm breathing whole revolutions.
i do not tell the stories:
i live them.